


Lois Lane!Stiles & Superman!Derek Story

by tumtatumtum



Category: Superman - All Media Types, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Boys Kissing, Clark Kent!Derek, Dirty Talk, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Hair-pulling, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mild Smut, Smut, Superman!Derek, hangovers, lois lane!stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-17
Updated: 2016-10-17
Packaged: 2018-08-22 23:09:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8304790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tumtatumtum/pseuds/tumtatumtum
Summary: Stiles Lane asks Derek Kent out after a sexy and revealing encounter with Superman.  Things get complicated.What follows is angst, make-ups and a bit of smut.One Shot!  Enjoy.





	

“I’m doing it. Today’s the day.”

 

“Terrible idea Stiles. “

 

“TODAY SCOTTY- I ask Derek Kent out.”

 

“Dude, he might actually kill you. I know he’s clumsy as hell but he’s not- you know- small.”

 

“I spend enough time looking at his shoulders, Scott. I know what he looks like.”

 

“Does he even _like_ you?”

 

“I have no idea what you’re referring to” Stiles sniffs, knowing exactly what Scott is referring to.

 

Because even though they’re Lane & Kent- the TOP investigative journalists and co-columnists at the Daily Planet, Stiles and Derek have a bit of a reputation. For arguing. Loudly.

 

Stiles likes to think it’s all foreplay for their inevitable tumble-into-bed, which then would turn into a beautiful courtship, then marriage, then they’d take over the world together. Maybe adopt a kid or two. Whatever, the point is that Stiles doesn’t actually _hate_ Derek.

 

It’s really the opposite.

 

Stiles is completely ga-ga over the guy. He’s smart and sarcastic and a bit of an asshole, but he’s an asshole in the most perfect way. Stiles loves how his ties are hopelessly out of style, how he glowers at anyone who tries to talk to him before noon. Stiles loves the way he challenges him, how he can keep up with one of Stiles’ rambles or his paranoia-boards (as Scott calls them). Stiles even loves the way Kent’s stupid glasses can’t hide his expressive eyebrows.

 

Yeah, Stiles has it bad.

 

And now Stiles has realized the true extent of his feelings for one Clark Kent. Ironically, it was a mutual friend who helped him with his epiphany.

 

Well, “mutual friend” might be a bit of a stretch. Stiles isn’t really sure what to call The Man of Steel.

 

\-------------

 

It had all started just two days ago. Stiles had been ignoring Derek’s sage, but really inconvenient, advice and decided to break into one of Lex Luther’s data storage warehouses. Sometimes big-time criminals forget about little places like this and a henchman gets sloppy, leaves behind a trail of evidence that Stiles can follow towards something more substantial.

 

Totally. Solid. Plan. Until the said henchmen actually showed up, and Stiles found himself dangling over the side of a roof. Before Stiles had time to punch the other one in the nuts, he’d been hurled off the side of the twenty story building.

 

Stiles had just sighed and crossed his arms, wind whistling past his ears. Then it stopped and he found himself in the familiar embrace of spandex and muscles, gliding through the air and watching the city twinkle below him. He refused to look at his rescuer.

 

“I know what you’re going to say, so you don’t have to bother. I’ve learned my lesson this time.”

 

Stiles lets out a very _manly_ squeal as the lights below go blurred and his savior hurtles towards the nearest roof. They land softly as always, but Stiles still punches what feels like an iron wall when they do.

 

“You jerk, you scared me!”

 

“I scared you?!” Red eyes flash briefly, and Stiles gulps. Suddenly Superman is right up in his personal space, which is INCREDIBLY noticeable when one party is wearing spandex. Stiles gulps again and wills his boner to behave itself for once in its life.

 

Because Superman is molten-lava-on-top-of-Chris-Hemsworth abs level hot. Stiles is fairly certain Superman’s one perfectly curled hair in the middle of his forehead is the sole cause of global warming. And now all that 6 foot, tall, dark, handsome and righteous gorgeousness is being aimed directly at a poor, defenseless Stiles. Superman approaches in a familiar posture and Stiles knows he’s about to get the most sexually-arousing scolding of his lifetime.

 

“YOU go around every night like it’s your gosh darn JOB to give me a fudging heart-attack! Do you know how many times I’ve saved you this month alone?”

 

“OK, I am not some damsel in distress-“

 

“14 times, Stiles! 14! Why do you keep doing this?! What is wrong with you?!” Superman roars, standing with his hips squared and that one hair curled and Stiles just-

 

He kisses him.

 

And it’s- _WOW_. Stiles has thought and jerked off a lot about this exact scenario. And it’s better than he thought because there are _fireworks_ going off all over his skin, and oh my God is that an arm encircling his waist and is Superman kissing him back?

 

Stiles’ knees buckle, and Superman catches him, like he always does.

 

Minutes must pass, the two of them embraced upon the roof. Stiles doesn’t know and he doesn’t care. Because Superman holds him _firmly_ , like he wants to keep Stiles there and just show him that Stiles has never known a good time before this. And Stiles absolutely believes he can because he’s half-hard just from some making out and he’s _whimpering_ into those muscles and soft skin that is musky and solid beneath his fingertips. Stiles knows this is getting out of hand because he’s _writhing_ against Superman like a cat in heat but he can’t help it, he’s going to beg in a second. But _just_ when Stiles remembers to breathe in between the tangle of tongues and strong groping hands, it hits him-

 

(Last week Stiles had spilled coffee on the shirt Superman is currently in the process of feeling up. Derek had laughed at him of course (with his judging eyebrows) but thirty minutes later he had returned with a fresh cloth and some baking soda from who knows where and aggressively wiped the collar of Stiles’ shirt clean.

 

Stiles still doesn’t know where he got the baking soda. All he knows is that he didn’t think anything of it until this exact moment, because while Superman is (incredibly sexily) feeling at that collar, he realizes Derek had cleaned him up after they had a _huge_ argument about Derek using his Kent-Superman connection for an exclusive interview. Derek had stormed off and Stiles had hurled a pen at his back, and they hadn’t spoken for the rest of the day.)

 

Superman might swoop in and save him from the bad guys, but Derek Kent- God, Derek Kent amazes him daily.

 

Superman has pulled away while Stiles is having the world’s most inconveniently timed revelation (which come on, couldn’t he have had this after a round of Super-sex?). All that’s on Superman’s face is earnestness and concern, and Stiles feels his brain (and groin) threaten to mutiny against his heart for what he’s about to do.

 

“Sorry, that was super- I MEAN- just, WOW. With capital letters there, big guy. But I uh, think I might have gotten my head hit a bit harder by one of those henchmen than I thought?”

 

“Oh, of course, I didn’t-“ Superman’s brows furrow and Stiles thinks he’s the worst person in the entire world.

 

“No no! It’s not your fault. Would have been a lot worse if you hadn’t been around. I’m just a bit woozy, you know? I think I need to go to my apartment and go through the whole concussion-protocol.”

 

Superman nods vigorously at Stiles’ little lie and asks, almost shyly,

 

“Need a lift there?”

 

Stiles is officially the worst person in the world because he says yes and lets himself be whisked away one last time. He can’t even really enjoy the kiss Superman leaves on his hand when he says goodnight, he’s such a rotten person.

 

\--------------

That was two days ago, and Stiles has been busy since then. Not just with the leads he got from a trusty source (stole) but with preparing a fantastic, romantic meal for one Derek Kent.

 

He has it all worked out- he’ll ask Derek over tonight for “research”, surprise him with a home cooked meal and confess his monumental crush. If it works, they’ll be doing the horizontal tango for dessert. If not- well, he’ll have possibly ruined the best professional partnership he’s ever had. But it’ll be worth it!

 

“For true love, Scott!”

 

“Dude. You’re just horny. Why don’t you go jump off a building and let Superman take care of that for you?”

 

And that’s another problem Stiles is having. Because Superman hasn’t really been around lately- not that Stiles has gotten into any trouble to see him. He and Derek have really been pouring over the records he found (stole) the past few nights, without a red cape in sight. So Stiles hasn’t exactly had time to break the news to Superman that ‘you’re a walking wet dream but I’m kind-of in love with my co-columnist sorry hope you’ll still rescue me’.

 

Yeah. No opportunity to have that conversation. And it’s not like Stiles can ask Derek to tell Superman for him, because that would just be all kinds of awkward. The short of it is there has been no almost-break-up yet, but it’s on Stiles’ list of things to do!

 

Speaking of…

 

“Yo, Smallville! Got a second?” Stiles ask, rounding the corner of Derek’s desk and perching his fine ass on it. Derek moves his coffee just in time, as usual. He narrows his eyes in suspicion and asks,

 

“What do you want, Lane?”

 

“Such hostility towards your partner! I thought we had worked on this- what happened to all our team building?”

 

“Being forced to watch a season of Gilmore Girls with you while we waited for a tip from a source is not team building.”

 

“That is _such_ a ‘Dean’ thing to say. Anyhoo, I was wondering if you wanted to get out of the office tonight. Little change of scenery. Meet at my place, quarter after 7?”

 

Kent actually perks up at that. They’ve both been in the office for too long and are both starting to smell.

 

“That actually is not a half-bad suggestion. See you then, Kent. Now off my desk please, some of us have real journalism to do.”

 

“Sure thing. Oh, and Kent?”

 

Derek looks up sharply, and Stiles winks at him and lets himself leer at Derek’s ill-dressed body.

 

“Don’t keep me waiting. I’ve got a tight schedule to keep and _special_ plans for tonight.”

 

And Kent actually blushes and coughs on air, cheeks going pink beneath his glasses. He fumbles with the keyboard and mutters “I’m never late” before staring fixedly at this computer, intent on ignoring a gleeful Stiles at his side.

 

Stiles doesn’t even snipe back, just saunters off to find Scott and completely freak out about what he’s planning to do. Scott spends the next few minutes being the best bro ever and reminding Stiles how awesome he is and how lame Derek would be to say no.

 

“Plus,” Scott reminds him cheerfully over a mouthful of burrito, “you can always rebound with Superman!”

 

God, he’s Super-screwed.

 

\------------

 

Stiles is putting the finishing touches on his candlelit dinner for two on his iron patio, which juts out of the window of his 17th story apartment. It’ll be a little chilly but that’s alright, the meat’s in the oven and the potatoes are done-

 

“What the _hell_ , Lane?!” And oh shit he forgot to lock the door and Derek’s here, looking adorable and rumpled as ever.

 

And pissed. Like, SUPER pissed.

 

“Um…” Stiles was not expecting anger quite so soon.

 

“Who the hell is this for?” Derek demands, pointing accusingly to the romantic dinner table Stiles is almost done setting. Stiles gestures the remaining fork around at the scenario before him, as if to say ‘duh’: Derek+ Stiles + Romantic Dinner= Love Train Toot Toot. But Derek’s eyes fly upwards towards the sky and Stiles realizes all too late that he must think- oh no-

 

“Oh, I see. I didn’t realize you were that _delusional_ about Superman’s feelings for you that you forget things like _appointments_ with your _colleagues_.”

 

“Fuck you, I’m not delusional! Wait no, that’s not what-“ Stiles struggles to explain and climb back into his apartment but Derek is already rearing to go.

 

“What then, huh? What’s it about?” And oh no Derek and he are right up in each other’s faces, just like when they fight at the office. Except this time there’s no Perry to pull them apart before they say something they might regret. Derek sneers at him and Stiles feels himself see red.

 

“Don’t tell me- you think that if you cook him a nice roast he’ll feel so sorry for you he’ll come down and give you a pity fuck?” Derek yells at him, stupid khaki jacket swishing as he points again at Stiles. Stilles leans in for his jab and gets right up close to Derek’s face.

 

“Well, it wasn’t pity when he tongue-fucked my mouth a few nights ago was it, asshole?!” Stiles yells back. He realizes what he’s said about 5 seconds later but it’s too late. Derek’s face has gone stone solid, the surest sign that he’s absolutely furious. Derek slowly raises his hand and presses one finger squarely into Stiles’ chest so lightly it could only feel like a threat.

 

“Maybe you should lead _him_ on then, and leave me out of the fucking _catastrophe_ that is your love-life. Hey, maybe you’ll be a notch on someone else’s bedpost for a change! Maybe he’ll let you suck his cock the next time he saves you!”

 

“Oh fuck you, Kent! Just because I can actually talk to people like I’m not some _freak_ doesn’t mean I’m a fucking slut!”

 

Derek recoils like Stiles has slapped him, and Stiles once again feels like he’s the worst person on Earth. Because yes, Derek is horrible with people. He bumbles and he doesn’t understand a lot about human nature, but that’s only because under his surly exterior is a soft, lovable teddy bear that just needs someone to cuddle him. It’s probably what Stiles loves the most about him.

 

But before Stiles can tell him that Derek is gone, out the door of his apartment and leaving nothing but the wind from an open patio-door behind him.

 

\-------------

 

Stiles Lane, internationally renowned and award-winning reporter and all around adult, likes to think he handles the situation well.

 

He gets blitzed on his balcony and eats almost an entire roast by himself. It went really well with the two bottles of wine he got for it.

 

Derek would have loved it. He loves trying new foods and flavors, and he never seems to get the stomach problems that come along with sampling random Metropolis Indian food.

 

Dammit, Lane, pull yourself together.

 

“Rough night?” A voice from above asks, and Stiles looks blearily up to see two Supermen hovering above him. He squints and they become one slightly-pissed off Superman.

 

“Yeah. You could f-fantastically understate it like that.”

 

“Well, that’s not going to make it any better.” Superman says before taking away the last of what was left of Stiles’ second bottle of wine. He places it on the iron-grated floor of the patio and takes a seat in the chair opposite Stiles. Where Derek was supposed to sit.

 

“That’s not your chair” Stiles slurs, and Superman raises an eyebrow. Stiles continues,

 

“While we’re at it- because hey, might as well be the shittiest time ever. I think you’re probably the hottest thing on the planet- or any planet, really- but I don’t think this is gonna work out.”

 

Superman’s jaw drops, and Stiles starts to snicker because he looks so damn surprised. Like Stiles just told him he knew his secret identity or something.

 

“But- but why not?”

 

Stiles sighs and makes grabby motions, until Superman gives him his hand. Stiles clutches it in his own two palms (only in part to hold on, as the Earth is moving really fast right now).

 

“Listen, Supes. You’re incredible, you really are. But I’m- it’s not fair to either of us. You’d be all ‘best-boyfriend-ever’ and I’d be the guy who loves his co-worker.”

 

Superman, if possible, looks even more surprised. Stiles is actually afraid he has had a stroke, so he pokes his cheek. Superman slaps his hand away and says,

 

“I’m sorry, I’m NOT the person you want?”

 

“Oh, I want you. Like, alllllll up in my bizness. But I kind of love someone else right now? And even though he just rejected me, I’m kinda hoping that maybe tomorrow I can beg forgiveness and he forgets it and I can just go back to basking in the glow of his surly awesomeness?”

 

Superman- almost seems happy, but Stiles knows that it’s just the wine talking.

 

“But hey- if I get over this in like 5 years and you’re still single, I’ll give you a call. Deal?” And Stiles reaches out a hand, which Superman hesitantly takes and shakes.

 

“Deal. But I wouldn’t worry too much about that, Lane.”

 

Stiles opens his mouth to respond, but he instead face-plants into his plate of unfinished mashed potatoes.

 

Smooth, Lane. Very smooth.

 

\---------------

 

Stiles awakes the next morning to find his face is washed, his apartment has been cleaned and the dishes have been put away. Because of course Superman would be the perfect gentleman.

 

One thing the Man of Steel cannot do, however, is cure Stiles’ massive hangover. At least, Stiles doesn’t think he can. He’ll DEFINITELY be sure to ask because getting to his desk this morning almost split his head in two. And he still has to face Derek.

 

He was wrong. THIS is going to be the worst time ever.

 

Stiles has just finished gently gently gently lowering himself into his beloved swivel seat when a shadow looms over his desk. Praying it’s Perry come to scream at him about the new editorial, he turns and looks up to see Derek Kent haloed in fluorescent lighting.

 

Holding a cup of ginger ale and two aspirin. Stiles is so confused.

 

“If you’re trying to poison me, I’m pretty sure the air is already doing that.”

 

Derek snorts and sets the ginger ale and aspirin on his desk. Then he squats down so he’s hidden from the rest of the office by Stiles’ cubicle, and also so Stiles doesn’t have to crane his neck up to see how good and un-hungover he looks. Derek starts off gruffly and quietly, looking at his feet while saying,

 

“It occurred to me the other night that the dinner you were making _might_ have been for me.”

 

“DUH. Asshole.” Stiles snipes, then winces because apparently sarcasm makes his head hurt.

 

Derek sighs, then reaches up and starts massaging Stiles’ temples with his fingers and Stiles _moans_ in pure bliss because holy shit that’s good. He’s going to start drooling any second now.

 

“We’re both assholes. But that’s alright, because I think I’d like to be assholes together. With you. As a boyfriend kind of deal.”

 

And Stiles kind of blearily gives Derek a dazed thumbs up, because he can barely think right now this head massage is so good. Derek seems to get it though and gives him a shy, soft smile back and Stiles feels his heart melt. God, he swears he’s going to spend the rest of his days protecting the goodness that is Derek Kent.

 

“I’d kiss you right now Smallville, but I might barf on you.” Is what Stiles says instead, but he already knows that he won’t be able to control what he says when Derek gets his hands on him.

 

Derek just laughs and winks back at Stiles, and **holy fuck Stiles is not ready for that**.

 

“Plenty of time for that later. How about you come over tomorrow night and I cook for you, then we can discuss this _tight_ schedule of yours?”

 

Stiles nods so vigorously he _does_ end up throwing up. But it’s OK because it gets Derek to fuss over him the entire day, something Stiles does absolutely not take advantage of.

 

Scott whacks him on the arm when Derek actually feeds Stiles saltines by hand.

 

\-------------

 

Six months later, and things have been capital WOW. Derek and Stiles still fight at work, but now it ends with hot make-up sex in the supply closet instead of the angry jerk-offs Stiles used to do. Plus now that they’ve moved in together for two weeks, Stiles and Derek do some of their best brainstorming after a round (or three) of mind-blowing sex.

 

And the sex is- **WOW**. Stiles has had many partners, but none that have made him actually tap out he’s too cum-soaked and cum-dry to go anymore. They’re both insatiable, but Derek is tender ( _when Stiles needs to just be held and whispered sweet-nothings to and made to cum again and again_ ) and rough ( _fucked up against the wall makes Stiles beg to cum and then says_ no _like the bastard he is)_ and oh so spectacular with his fingers ( _Stiles swears he’s achieved Nirvana at least twice since they started dating_ ).

 

They are getting to work later in the day. But come on- he sees Derek shirtless all the time now! And those glasses! Stiles’ fragile willpower can only handle so much.

 

Yeah, things with Kent are amazing.

 

Things with Superman are a little weird.

 

They still see each other on the rescuing-basis. But Superman has been getting a little too- friendly- for Stiles’ liking. It’s nothing really. Just a hand on the lower part of his back that didn’t used to be there, or an appreciative glance-over where professional courtesy once was. Little things that have added up to the point that Stiles is now staring at his perfect, wonderful, socially-awkward and stunning boyfriend who is sat cross-legged on their living room floor, pencil tucked behind his ear as he goes over some files from the last of Lex’s storage locker.

 

Stiles plops down next to him on the floor and leans against the couch with him. The couch moves a little under their combined weight and Derek grunts and elbows Stiles softly in the ribs, and just like that Stiles knows he made the right choice.

 

“So, you know how Superman and I made out once?”

 

Derek freezes and looks frostily at Stiles from over his glasses lenses. He doesn’t like it when Stiles mentions that, for some reason. Gone are Stiles’ role-playing dreams.

 

“Yes.”

 

“WEeeeEEEllll you know how I told him how in love I was with you so that Stiles Lane was a no-fly zone?”

 

Derek nods and frowns like he doesn’t get whatever Stiles is talking about. Stiles sighs.

 

“Look, it’s probably nothing. Actually, knowing Supes it is totally nothing. But I just thought I’d let you know I’m gonna be having a talk with him again.”

 

“About what?”

 

“He’s just- he’s just acting really _familiar_. Almost like we are an item, and then I’ll cough or something and he remembers we aren’t. Because I am completely with your truly over here.”

 

Derek’s gone very still, which Stiles knows from experience means he’s processing something beyond Stiles’ pay grade. So Stiles waits patiently until Derek nods and stands, then moves their living room table to the far side of the room.

 

“Uhhhhh is this how you deal with threats to your territory? Feng shui?”

 

“No, this is how I reveal my biggest secret to the man I’m going to spend the rest of my life with.”

 

And Stiles goes a little goofy at that, because yeah there may be some plans to go down to city hall next weekend with some friends, Stiles’ dad and Derek’s mom, and make this thing official. You know. Plans.

 

Derek turns back around to face Stiles and says,

 

“I wanted to tell you at least a hundred times before. And only half the time so you would listen to me.”

 

Then Derek spins so fast the papers he was looking at fly about the room, and where once was Derek Kent in his flannel pajamas stands Superman, hair coiffed and all. Derek- Superman reaches up and takes off his glasses and puts them into a little pocket in his cape while Stiles looks on like a gaping fish. Derek laughs and smiles at him and holds out his hand, which Stiles takes dumbly as Superman lifts him to his feet.

 

“You know, you were the first person to ever pick Derek Kent over Superman.”

 

“…… I cannot _believe_ you won’t give me an exclusive!” Is the first thing out of Stiles’ mouth, then he covers it in horror.

 

“I mean- wow, what a secret! That I will treasure and guard and not hold it against you for not telling me for so long. Like an asshole! HOLY SHIT YOU’RE SUPERMAN! That’s just so- so….” He trails off when Derek looks at him with his Unimpressed-By-Lane Look ©.

 

“You want me to leave the costume on while we make love, don’t you?”

 

And Stiles squeals because it’s like Christmas and his birthday all wrapped into one. He’ll be freaking out about grilling Superman later, but right now his #1 Sex FantasyTM that he didn’t even know he had came true, and he’s got a dick to appease.

 

His brain can wait.

 

Stiles grabs the glasses from that little pocket inside Derek’s cape and puts them back on, then jumps up and wraps his legs around Derek’s waist and _grinds_ and holy shit you can feel _everything_ under that suit.

 

“I think you said something about me thanking you for saving me life, Superman?” Stiles says, batting his eyelashes before pressing his lips to Kent’s and fisting at Superman’s stupidly perfect hair. He feels Derek smile under him and grab a fistful of Stiles’ own locks before walking them-

 

Past the bedroom, to the patio before tensing slightly and then-

 

_Holy cheeseballs Batman they’re flying._

 

Derek grins and rasps into Stiles’ ear as they soar over Metropolis, “You’re gonna ride my cock over this city and scream my name to the world. Oh baby, the things I can do to you now that you know…”

 

And Stiles whimpers, wind roaring by his ears at the thought of vibrating tongues and fingers and heat vision.

 

Holy cow he’s not going to survive. He can’t wait. Best time ever.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Follow me on tumblr at:
> 
> http://versus21.tumblr.com/


End file.
